


an Island of Reality

by MiyabiDreams



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiyabiDreams/pseuds/MiyabiDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More 2-year-old fic! This time about a depressed and suicidal assassin.</p><p>Inspired by the song Details in the Fabric by Jason Mraz</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I can't do it anymore._

Those were the words smeared on the bathroom wall when Shaun found him. The pale, limp body of the young man that up until just a few seconds ago had been nothing but a source of irritation, sitting spread-eagle on the ground, a razorblade in one hand and the opposite wrist laid open. Still draining.

There was still time.

"Bloody stupid useless bastard if you die here I'll... I'll..." _I'll what?_ Shaun's hands closed tight over the deep wounds as his head fell down on Desmond's bare shoulder. At least he'd been thoughtful enough not to make him have to claw his damned hoodie off.

Moisture dripping down the end of his nose and landing with a soft patter on the material of Desmond's jeans drew Shaun's attention and made him swear irritably under his breath. What right did this ridiculous has-been assassin have to try and off himself when there was still so much god damned work to be done? How the hell could he justify pulling such a stupid stunt?

_I can't do it anymore._

The words written in the blood of the rapidly dying man felt like a dagger in the back. He wanted to scream. For help, from anger, rage, inexplicable sadness, Shaun was never quite sure, even afterward but he could never choke out a sound above the furious whispers that made up his attempts to revive Desmond enough to be sure he knew there would be hell to pay for this.

A twitch. That was a twitch, he felt it, there was no way he'd imagined it. In a few fast, fumbling movements Shaun wrenched his sweater off over his head, then the undershirt beneath it and ripped the latter and used the strips as a makeshift bandage, tying them tight around Desmond's arm then checking the pulse in his neck. It was weak, fluttery at best but it was there. Thank god it was there. If he'd waited and argued with the girls about staying behind just a little while longer-

He didn't want to think about it.

\--

The room smelled of antiseptic and, under that, blood. The ceiling was blurry and his head was pounding. The world was swimming before his eyes until an unfocused head loomed into his field of vision. He recognized that kind of goofy hairstyle.

"Miles, say something _right fucking now_ or I swear- "

What Shaun swore, Desmond never found out. The man's head fell down and lay against his side, his shoulders shaking just slightly. It stopped when a hand rose then fell against the side of his neck, one calloused thumb stroking along his skin gently until the hand was taken in both of Shaun's and a pair of lips pressed to his fingers a few times then were replaced by the man's forehead.

Something in Desmond's arm stung, but he couldn't get his eyes to focus right and his head was so heavy he couldn't lift it more than a couple of inches off his pillow. He let his eyes slip closed and once more he drifted off. He hadn't said a word. He had nothing to say. Not just then.

\--

_"When did you find him?"_

_Lucy's voice._

_"Jesus Christ, Shaun! If you hadn't- "_

_"I know! I- ...I know."_

_Rebecca, Shaun... so that's everyone. Now it's just a matter of where-_

_"He's waking up! Get something! A glass of water, some soup, something! Must I do everything myself?"_

Desmond's eyes cracked open, once more failing to focus on the ceiling overhead, but he was spared trying by the faces of two very scared-looking women over him touching, whispering, glaring at him until they were pulled away by that voice. His voice.

"Leave him alone. I'll be talking with him later," Shaun growled as he sat down beside Desmond's bed once more, with a warm mug of tea in one hand and a steaming bowl of something that smelled like soup in the other. He put them on the ground then took Desmond's unresisting hand, his fingers moving up along two sets of bandages on his arm, one around his wrist, the other in the crook of his elbow.

"Did you see what was on the wall?"

"Oh yeah, scared the shit out of me. Had to scrub it off. I'll probably have a few nightmares."

"Will the two of you please just shut up and go do something useful!?" Shaun barked over his shoulder at the women, both of them giving him affronted looks but backing off, leaving him beside Desmond's prone form as the younger man gathered his faculties slowly. His hand flexed then fell back to the bedspread.

"Shaun?"

"Shut up, Desmond."

"Shaun, I- "

"What part of 'shut up' don't you understand, idiot? Here," Shaun grimaced and helped Desmond sit up, arranging another pillow behind his back to help keep him propped up then handing him the lightly steaming tea. "Drink it all," he instructed, then crossed his arms and sat back, watching Desmond closely. As the younger man's head cleared he started remembering...everything. And he was ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he started, then closed his eyes, his head falling for a moment before looking back up and meeting Shaun's gaze for no more than a few seconds before being forced to lower it again.

"Save your apologies," Shaun muttered, "You're a selfish fucker and the only thing I want to hear from you is an explanation. What the bloody hell were you thinking?" he demanded, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. The longer Desmond held his silence, the more Shaun wanted nothing more than to smack him upside the head. Multiple times.

"I was scared," Desmond whispered, "so scared. I'm losing my mind." He looked up at Shaun with a strained smile that looked more like a grimace the longer he held it. Shaun's expression went from confusion to blatant anger.

"Scared? That's your excuse for nearly bleeding yourself dry, you were scared? You would let the world end rather than tell someone else that you need help? You could have told any of us. You could have told _me_." Shaun's voice faltered then fell silent. He shied away when he felt Desmond's hand on his head.

The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence for a long time. It wasn't until Desmond finally looked down at the bandage in the crook of his arm, then at the one just barely visible beneath the sleeve of Shaun's sweater that he became the first to move. He reached out, wrapping his arms around Shaun's neck and drawing the older man close to him. He didn't expect a reaction at all, but when he felt a pair of arms snake around his middle and tighten enough so he couldn't move away he breathed a long, shuddering sigh and laid his cheek down against the Brit's with a slight grimace at the way the stubble growing on both of their cheeks rasped against one another.

He muttered apology after apology, his eyes squeezed shut against an onslaught of tears until thin, chapped lips pressed against his own and effectively silenced him.

"You are incapable of being quiet when you need to be," Shaun muttered against his mouth before drawing away, his expression sour but his eyes...they said something else, something that sent painful bolts straight into Desmond's heart and he knew he was wrong. There was nothing he could ever do to make it up to Shaun for saving him. Mind, body and soul, he owed so much to the man before him for pulling his ass out of the fire and into his own arms to begin his life again.

This time, he would do better.


	2. an Island of Reality: Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not so much a second chapter as a "this happened later on".

The scars never faded. It never helped that they were etched into the skin of the arm in which those beautiful, exotic tattoos were drawn, emphasized and brought out by the ever-vivid black ink.

Desmond slept peacefully after the incident, but only when the warmth of another body was pressed to his back. There was always a pair of hands, one at his chest, the other around his wrist just under his hand, as if to protect it and to serve as a reminder.

Four. That was what always struck Shaun the hardest. Four cris-crossing lines dug deep into skin that up until then had been completely unblemished. When he glanced down to see them, he could almost swear he was back there in the bathroom begging Desmond not to die while the words daubed in blood on the wall had just begun to dry.

"Selfish bloody bastard," Shaun breathed quietly against Desmond's neck and the younger man just barely stirred, but never woke. These days, he slept the sleep of the dead after working for hours in the Animus. He put in more and more time every day, trying to make up for what he'd done. The girls always said he was overdoing it, but he refused to listen. Whenever they mentioned it, he just looked over at the man that never seemed to acknowledge him in favor of focusing on his computer.

He'd apologized. Over and over again he apologized and Shaun just...well, he didn't ignore it. But he never accepted it. But Desmond never complained. He knew he didn't really deserve it, as much as he asked for forgiveness.

What he didn't know was that it had been given, every night since then, in the form of the silent arms that always protected him while he slept and the lips that would press to his wrist, first over the bandages, then over those four scars, then along his neck in ways that never failed to make him shiver and arch back with his head against one freckled shoulder. But he never opened his eyes, and to Shaun, that was just fine. It meant Desmond wouldn't have to see the tears that always seemed to find him whenever he laid eyes on those damned lines carved into tanned skin that by all right should have lost its color from so long inside but somehow always managed to look so beautiful and healthy, except for in those hours when he'd been forced to share the blood of another or die without it.

Shaun's brow furrowed as he put his forehead against Desmond's shoulder and held him as if afraid he might find a way to disappear. There was still so much they needed to do and learn and if he let go, they would get nothing done and the world would come crashing down around them and-

"Stop that."

_Bugger_

"Stop what?"

"Angsting."

"I am not _angsting_ , Miles."

He squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed a hand over his eyes until his wrist was pulled away and Desmond's head was leaned down against his own. "Then what do you call it?"

"Just drop it, would you?" Shaun huffed quietly, then pushed Desmond's shoulder to make him lay back down, which only actually worked for about three seconds. The man sat back up and propped himself against one arm, poking the slight paunch of Shaun's stomach lightly, earning him a smack across the shoulder. "Go to sleep if you intend another stint in the animus tomorrow like the last one."

"Yes mother."

Shaun's irritable reply was cut off by a pair of scarred lips pressed to his own, making him grumble quietly before returning the kiss and pulling Desmond back down against him. Perhaps they would both be able to sleep for once.


End file.
